Ken McClure - Chameleon

'Psst,' said a voice above him like sibilant snake.

'Psst,' answered another voice from below.

They were playing with him! thought Jamieson. The bastards were playing with him! Fear and fury vied within him as he fought to remain calm. His stalkers could not see him any more than he could see them, he reasoned. Slowly he reached out with his foot again for the next step down but this time it was pulled away from him with a sudden violent tug. He crashed heavily down on to the stone steps with his cheek taking the brunt of his fall. His head filled with stars and the pain made him cry out loud. A fist smashed into his right kidney making him cry out again as he tried to roll himself into a ball for protection. He swung his fist backwards hoping to make contact with something and he did but there was no power behind it and in reply a foot crashed into his stomach taking the breath from him.

'Get his arms!' rasped a voice in the blackness.

Jamieson felt his arms being pinned behind him as he was dragged to his feet and more blows thudded into his body. As he felt himself being pushed against the railings the thought that they might be about to push him over the banister into the stair well and almost certain death bred new strength in him. He lashed out with the heel of his right foot and caught one of his attackers below the knee cap. The man yelled out and released his grip on Jamieson's arms so that Jamieson was able to pull back a bit and turn round. He took a swipe at his other attacker but failed to make any contact whereas something heavy and hard hit him on the side of the head and the strength drained from his limbs.

'Break the bastard's neck!' Jamieson heard one of the voices say as he struggled to remain conscious.

'We're gonna do this right!' said another voice.

'I'll cut his balls off!' said the first voice again.

Jamieson heard the metallic click of a knife being opened in the blackness. Blind panic fuelled him with enough energy to wrench his right arm free again. He swung his fist with all his might and this time it connected but only with the wall. Another violent blow to his head snuffed out all consciousness before the pain in his hand had even reached his brain.

Jamieson came round with a blinding headache. He felt as if two hydraulic rams were trying to push his eyes out of their sockets and the merest movement of his head exacerbated the pain to such a point that consciousness threatened to leave him again. In the moments when he could think clearly, those when he lay absolutely stock till and kept his breathing to a minimum, he deduced that his hands were tied behind his back and that he was lying on a rough blanket that was none too clean. There was a smell of stale sweat in the still air and a faint, seminal odour about the room. But at least he was alive. Pop music was being played somewhere in the distance and a young girl's exaggerated laughter drifted up from the street below.

The fact that he was still alive was something that Jamieson found surprising. Come to think of it he couldn't understand any of it. There had been two attackers and neither of them had been Thelwell. He was quite sure of that. So who had assaulted him and why? Psychopaths didn't have accomplices? It didn't make sense.

Jamieson heard footsteps on the stairs and felt afraid. He was facing the wall when he heard the door open behind him. This wasn't by design; the pain in his head had prevented him from turning over; he hadn't moved more than a few centimetres since he had regained consciousness. The light clicked on and he focussed on faded green wallpaper in front of his face. Behind him he heard more than one person come into the room.

'He's still out,' said a voice.

'Turn him over,' rasped a second voice.

A hand gripped Jamieson's shoulder roughly and stars exploded in front of his eyes as he was rolled over on to his back. He grimaced and let out a whispered curse in the form of an appeal to the Almighty.

'He's awake,' said the man at the foot of the bed without any emotion. 'He's conscious.'

Jamieson opened his eyes with pained slowness and looked at the speaker. He was a tall, powerful looking man aged about thirty and dressed in an expensive leather jacket and open necked shirt which looked as if it might be made of silk. But the expensive clothes could not mask the rough features or the scowl that looked as if it might be permanent. The other man was a full head shorter and dressed in a pin stripe suit which seemed a shade too tight for his expanding waist line. His thin lips were disguised to an extent by a bushy, black moustache which also interrupted a scar line that ran down the left side of his face and turned in to finish in the centre of his chin. Both men had a Mediterranean look about them although they sounded local.

'Sharon! Get in here!' the tall man called back over his shoulder.

A girl in her mid twenties sidled into the room, her skirt riding high on her thighs. Although still young, her face bore the signs of imminent ageing. Excess make-up could not disguise the early sinking of her cheeks and a hollowing of the eyes. By the time she was thirty even more make-up would turn her into an ugly caricature of the prostitute she was at present.

'Seen him before?' asked the tall man.

The girl examined Jamieson as if he were an inanimate object. 'Don't think so,' she said unsurely. 'Hard to say when you have to see so many in one night.'

Jamieson got the impression that her statement was an accusation and that it was directed at the shorter of the two men. Without looking at her the short man rapped, 'Cut the shit and just answer the questions.'

'Yes Louis,' replied the girl sullenly but obediently. 'She looked at Jamieson again and said, 'If this is the bastard. I'd like to…' Words failed her and she made a lunge at Jamieson, fingernails bared. Jamieson turned his head to one side but one of the girls’ nails had scratched his cheek before the tall man pulled her off. He could feel a trickle of blood start to run down his cheek.

'What the hell is going on?' demanded Jamieson through his pain and confusion. His voice was a croak.

'Don't play the innocent with us you bastard!' snarled the big man. He looked to his shorter companion and said, 'I still think we should settle this our way. Cut him and have done with it.'

Once again Jamieson heard the sound of a flick knife being opened and this time he could see it gleaming in the tall man's hand.

'Why are you doing this? What in God's name is going on? Who are you? What do you want with me?'

Jamieson's questions were ignored. The girl said, 'Ronnie's right. Teach the bastard a lesson. Better still leave him to me and the girls!'

Jamieson looked at the expression of contempt on the girl's face and was completely bemused. 'What the hell have I ever done to you?' he demanded.

'It's what you might have done you swine!' snarled the girl, once again trying to get to Jamieson but being constrained.

'It's too late for that,' said the small man.

'Will someone please tell me what's going on?' pleaded Jamieson. The sound of police sirens outside suddenly filled the room and the tall man went over to the window and opened it to look out. Jamieson could hear car doors slamming outside in the street and decided to gamble. He shouted at the top of his voice. 'Help! Police! I'm up here! Help!'

To Jamieson's amazement no one in the room made any move to stop him. The three behaved as if nothing had happened. The tall man closed the window and went to open the front door. The girl and the small man waited patiently until policemen started to pour into the room.

'This is the bastard, officer,' announced the small man as a man wearing an open raincoat appeared through the uniforms. 'Here's your killer.'

Jamieson closed his eyes as everything became clear to him at last. The irony of having been taken for the killer himself did not go well with his headache.